


the shepherd and the wayfarer

by wickedbad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedbad/pseuds/wickedbad
Summary: "Thus, Tuor curled his body against that of Voronwë’s, and his eyes fluttered, and before them, in the tides of his sleep, he saw nothing but golden light in the eves of the morrow. And the frigid winds about them meant naught, for in his sleep they could reach him not, and beside him lay Voronwë, his shepherd."On the way to Gondolin, Tuor and Voronwë get caught in the harshness of winter, where those brought together by the hand of Ulmo discover there is much more than warmth to be found in the other.
Relationships: Tuor/Voronwë (Tolkien)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	the shepherd and the wayfarer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I just read "Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin" last night, and I just had to write something for these two. This is the first time I've ever written about Tolkien's world that doesn't have to do with LoTR, so I'm a little nervous, especially because I have a bad habit of getting overwhelmed with all the lore. I hope this all makes sense and that you enjoy it!

Beneath the white stars of the dim night, where the clouds were of silver ere the pale moon, Tuor and Voronwë sought shelter in the solace of a small cave, carved into the hillside of a large rock from a long period of weathering among the land. The crests of winter began to chill the earth, for the flakes of snow dusted the land and the wind nipped with a bitter lust in the early hours of the morrow. That night, Tuor thought of his guide, his companion among the harsh roads of their travels, for Voronwë had been bestowed upon him by the grace of Ulmo, to serve as shepherd to Tuor on his journey toward Gondolin; though Voronwë had become more than a guide, more than a mariner once trapped in the vast depths of the unrelenting sea, for he had become a vessel of warmth in the ever-growing cold wind of Beleriand. For alone together, they walked through the blight wrought by the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

And it came to pass that Voronwë spoke of his tale, for it spilled from him just as the rolling waters of the sea, and he spoke of his tarrying ere he joined the seafarers of Turgon. He spoke of the forest that once ensnared his heart when he looked upon Nan-tathren and its beauty in the springtide, where he found willows and songbirds to beckon with the same ardor that the sea held in him. For Tuor had listened to the tale, as captivated by the meadow from the beauty of its prose alone, and his own heart swelled upon the look in Voronwë’s eyes while he spoke; and he was certain that he would come to meet none as like Voronwë in all his days to come, if he should see Gondolin and thereafter.

The tale of a mariner cast to sea, first broken away from the calling of his heart to flirt with the spoils of the springtime wild, wrestled with Tuor’s own longing. And in that tale of Voronwë, encumbered by the beauty of the spring, tarrying ere he tore himself away to take the Sirion toward the Great Sea where the shipwrights awaited him, Tuor thought that of himself; for he as well had since tarried in Nevrast, looking upon the coast of the sea, where the foam of the waves stuck to the shore and the salted air filled his lungs. There was much of Tuor to be seen mirrored in the tale of Voronwë, for within him he saw much of himself, and it drew him ever nearer his companion. For he had been once sundered by a fever of the sea, of its midst and its tide, and of the abandoned settlement left behind from the early days of the Ñoldor in Middle-earth.

Thus, it came as no surprise to either worn traveler or his guide when they spent the cold nights close together, inching nearer until they were well swaddled within the other’s embrace; for warm it was there, as well as fire, and perhaps it kindled more than just simple comforts between that of such an Elf and Man.

That night in the cave within the hillside, where the chill of the night yet seeped in, Tuor dreamed of the sea, but it was dark and reflected not even the moonlight upon its cresting waves; for there was naught to be seen in the depths of the dark sea as if it were a void placed upon the earth. For Tuor stood upon the great shore, the sea salt bitter against his tongue, and it burned through his throat into his lungs. And his feet had conjured a mind of their own, and they carried him toward the darkness; there he went into the unknown where he knew, besides having seen not such a void before, that he would not return. Thus, he opened his mouth to cry out, but it was followed by silence, for there were no sounds of the sea to be heard or the screams of desperate Men facing uncertain doom. For when his feet touched the dark waters, as black as the twilight above, he felt nothing, though he had expected the warmth of the water against his skin or cold from the void that lulled before him. Then, the emptiness surrounded him until he could see no longer, and he was swallowed by the sea, floating there in the vast depths beyond the shore where none could see or hear him; and he could do naught to save himself from its embrace.

When the water came upon his head, and his feet had been lifted from the weight of the shore, he gasped and awoke to find himself still beneath the dim stars of the night. And his embrace he found to be heavy, for he turned to see Voronwë against him, his eyes wide as he looked upon the sky beyond the opening of the cave.

“Voronwë,” Tuor spoke into the darkness, and he had expected his throat to be coated with thick sand and sea salt, but he found it, instead, to be of syrup dripping from his tongue. He had spoken his companion’s name out of comfort, for he had once called it upon the coast as it appeared within his mind, and he since loved the sound it carried from his mouth.

Voronwë did not break his gaze from the stars, as if he were lost within them, somewhere else, but he said: “The nights ahead shall bring forth more a chill than this we now feel. Do not turn astray, Tuor, for Gondolin is ahead still.”

“Aye, fortunate it is that you are beside me, for of all the companions I may have been sent, yours is of the warmth in wintertide, of starlight in darkness. And to that, I say unto you: be still, seafarer, for I have lost myself not to the journey, yet.”

Voronwë’s mouth twitched into a smile, the first of which seen in many long days, “I miss those who I lost at sea, but I have found much in the likes of Man, for golden hair I thought not to see upon the shores of the Great Sea, nor one clad in the armor of old; and I come to learn with each passing day that I am quite fortunate to have done so, for your companionship in these war-torn lands of the shadow is soothing.”

A moment of silence passed between them, filled with naught beside the howling winds of frost outside the cave. Then, Tuor spoke: “I fear our journey ahead, for that, I cannot hide,” And the current wrapped itself about them, and left behind a shiver that curdled upon their skin, “I see despair even in my sleep, where my mind ought to be aloft in calm; I, instead, find myself in tumult, a dark sea about me of which to awake is the sole escape.”

“Fear not, son of Huor, for we have yet seen the end, and though many leagues sit between us and the Hidden Kingdom, I feel that beside you we shall prevail,” Voronwë reached out, then, and caressed the curves of Tuor’s face, for his skin was cold and bitter in the night, and he touched as if tending to the broken wing of a small bird. Then, he spoke once more: “Sleep, for the road ahead is a perilous one, and the hours of the night seem to be shorter than that of the day. Sleep, Tuor.”

Thus, Tuor curled his body against that of Voronwë, and his eyes fluttered, and before them, in the tides of his sleep, he saw nothing but golden light in the eves of the morrow. And the frigid winds about them meant naught, for in his sleep they could touch him not, and beside him lay Voronwë, his shepherd.

***

In the following days that came to pass, Tuor and Voronwë traveled further through the wintertide lands of Beleriand, and they had been without proper rest for many days. For then, Tuor fell to his knees in the sheath of snow that covered the earth, as white as pearl, and his head hung with newfound weight upon it; and his feet were stubborn to carry him a step further, for they ached with burn and fatigue.

“Tuor,” Voronwë spoke into the frostbitten winds, then he collected his companion and brought him to his feet, where they fought to stay upright against the growing current, which nipped at them like a hungry beast. “This winter is cruel, for it spares us not a moment, but hasten we must and go forth; there are many leagues between us, still. Hearken to me, son of Huor, and collect your strength, for it most needs you, now.”

“It shall be by no intent of mine to lay down in the snow and succumb to sleep, yet my body thirsts for it — nay! It hungers to be buried beneath its wintry cloak until the darkness comes nigh. Lo! Voronwë of the Great Sea, for the winds that lay ere us bring forth more thick snow, and a feeble mind and body could pass through it not.”

Voronwë then looked upon the land ahead, and he could see that the snow had, indeed, thickened and the wind was harsh and bitter. For then he saw the languor that weighed upon Tuor, and he knew that they could not survive should they head forth into the biting tempest.

“Then rest we shall, for here in the forest the wind’s reach is not so cruel, but we must linger not past the break of the morrow,” Voronwë said as he guided Tuor further into the forest, into a small clearing of trees where the wind’s howl was but a distant murmur behind them.

And Tuor wondered, then, if they had tarried too long, that they would not see the reaches of Gondolin; for they were, surely, doomed to die in the harsh winter that was still to come with a merciless fervor. But when Voronwë sat beside him, his eyes of the gray sea that swam with calm, he thought of not else besides that — for no thoughts of cold or doom came unto him, then. He thought of how Voronwë had appeared to him outside Vinyamar, and how his name had settled upon his tongue, familiar and yet unfamiliar, all the same.

Thus, he reached out to grab at Voronwë — at anything, at _something_ that would not collapse within his grasp, that was not made of snow or winter. And it was to his surprise that Voronwë held him back, so close against him, where their bodies had become one beneath the pale light of the winter evening, and the sun had seeped further beneath the horizon so that the sky was growing ever dark before them.

Thus, it came as no surprise to them when they met each other with a longing kiss, they who had spent many long days together through the blight of Beleriand. And, when they felt the press of the other against them, it was of the crashing of tides against the shore; the salt of the sea thick upon their skin as they brushed together, for the foam of the sea curled around them. Tuor felt his fingers tangle within the dark hairs upon Voronwë’s head, then, and pulled him closer, for he had longed for such comfort in the last years. For once, long ago it seemed now, he would have thought naught of a Noldo mariner, one cast away to sea for many a year, but it was all that could come unto his mind, now.

For they had first met upon the coast of the Great Sea and had since dwelled together in the heart of winter, where the sun was hidden beneath the clouds and the winds were cruel. And he wished to tarry a while longer, to hold Voronwë there for the rest of his days, until the harsh winter would melt to spring.

When the kiss had come to an end, Voronwë kept his palms upon Tuor’s face, and he whispered unto him: “Hearken me, son of Huor, for together we shall see the Hidden Kingdom, and thereafter, too. Fear not, for I shall accompany you from this day to the last that we will come to see.”

Upon the words, Tuor’s heart swelled, and he hoped that it would prove to be true, that he would come to know Voronwë for many long years, well after their flight to Gondolin; and they would tarry no more in far off places they need not be, unless that be together — long beyond the days of winter, where they held each other as one, as more than the shepherd and the wayfarer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading, I appreciate it! As I said, I was super nervous to post this, but I hope I did it some justice! Also I wrote half of this on my phone so apologies for any typos I’ll try to catch them as I see them! <3


End file.
